Monday, June 13, 2016
A Happenstance Witness and The Holy Ghost:
Neither a novel or documentary, but for the patient reader
a timely story about the collapse of Modern and Post-Modern Times
By © Ludis Cuckold
1Lack of Women Priests (12)
During the past few weeks, the synod of the Latvian Lutheran Church, led by its archbishop, one surnamed Vanags (Hawk), has once again denied letting women serve as Lutheran church ministers.
There are likely several reasons for this reactionism. One: it hides from the public all male autoerotic rituals. Two: the all-male synod is hooked on elitist Catholic theology, which for all its gloss would still expect a woman to spend her wedding night in her local ‘baron’s bed. Three: the synod perceives the evolution of virtual man and society as making too slow progress, and wishes to increase the human population to 12 billion* in the shortest possible time. Four: Having created a civilization that is very good at increasing its problems, while incapable of finding a solution for same, the Lutheran synod (and Catholic theology) joins the military of our times in a sacrifice of billions of human beings to put the blame for the impotence of ‘their’ violent civilization into God’s hands.
*In 1947, when I was fourteen years old, the human population was 2 billion. Today, sixty-nine years later, it is over 7 billion. What accounts for this alarming increase? No ‘scientist’ has been able to figure it out.
This is why I will make use of this blog (and the next few) to discuss my take on the ‘missionary position’. As is my wont, I will start to measure the stick from its far end.
To wit: the mirror was not invented by the ego of a witch (“Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who is the most beautiful of them all?...”), but by the Sun. Unable to look at Her creation directly (according to old stories, it had already burned the raven black), the Sun discovered that obsidian stone, when polished, and hung on the Moon, and shone on directly, created a perfect mirror through which to view Her creation.
In later days, women ‘drew the moon down’ and hung it at the head of the bed so they could see the face of the man who gave them pleasure and he could see their face and derive ever greater pleasure from the ecstasy projected by the face of Mother Sun. Thus, sometimes the mirror projected a male Gorgon, at other times a female (see image on Athena’s chest). Unfortunately, a modern and unimaginative (and sentimental) Wiccan tradition limits the tradition to a virtualized ‘paganism’* of citified inhabitants, and causes reality to escape it.
*Pagan = a word derived from pa + Yan or ‘lesser(pa) + John’ or John the Diminished. The word has nothing in common with ‘peasant’ or Latin Europe as city bred scholars try make it out to be. The origin of the name and word Yan/John/Ganesh/Huan (also janissary, gendarme, gentleman, etc.) is to be sought in ‘gans’, a herder of elk, deer, sheep, etc., and the diminishment of this our ancient forebear by the cult of the elites, who have managed to run the ‘show’ to this day.
For lack of women priests to help tilt orthodox priesthoods to reflect the interests of women and thusly build confidence in women’s inner and outer self, many women (I am particularly thinking of the lesbian Wiccan synods, which dismiss Nature as unnatural and for that reason do all they can to diminish men, who, be that as it may, are born of the Mother Sun, too) leave men face their problems with stillborn imaginations that serve no one but stillborn reactionaries.
Perhaps the all male autoerotic cabals of the Latvian Lutheran synod fears a woman priest will explain that Christianity has its roots in ‘paganism’ as my blog 541 (God and Theatre) hints at. When Catholic friars came in contact with Mayan ’religion’ they were amazed how the ‘devil’ had got there ahead of them. In fact, there is nothing strange about it, if we accept the notion that Catholic Christianity serves a secular elite in imposing a government on humankind through taxation, which enslaves it. As I have written elsewhere, the Westphalia Peace Treaty was instrumental in securing this enslavement by instituting the Catholic dogma as the only possible Christian theology.
When I tell Daisy of my perception of Mr. Goodman’s dog, she tells me that I could not be more wrong.
She explains that the reason she wore the day-glow colored orange bra and wore the see-through blouse was because (believe it or not!) that is all she had to wear. She explains that a prostitute friend gave it to her years ago. She says that the bra had been at the bottom of her draw for several years, and admits that it reflects her interests of bygone days.* She laughs over my version about Godman’s dog. She tells that I must have been driving fast, because at a slower speed I would have seen that Mr. Godman had another woman in his car.
*Indeed, after raping her and scrambling the moral values of the society Daisy was born to, her stepfather excused his behavior by calling her a whore.
She tells me that she wore a skirt instead of jeans on the following day, because she had attended a Mother’s Day event that morning.
I am pleased that I have been proved wrong.
“But…”, I say, “you see what comes, when you hold back on information and leave me guessing. Coming from an environment other than your own, I concoct stories, which I believe to be true. At the very least, you’ve made me a grumpy Saturn in your sign.”
Daisy then tells me more: she tells that the armpits of the dress she wore were all shredded. She is pleased that I found her attractive in the dress, but swears to be innocent of any attempt to be overtly seductive. In effect: Old man, go figure what is your fantasy what is real.
Leaving bygones be bygones, Daisy and I get wrapped up in discussing the health of her mother, who I recently drove home from a mental institution and took to the hospital for a brain scan.
The conclusion of the doctor who analyzed the scan: “Without visible convincing pathology.”
The diagnosis does not surprise me, and I tell this to Daisy.
I explain that from what I see, her whole family has been victimized and traumatized by people who prey on those caught up by poverty. I mention that I see technology to be among her victimizers. I explain how in former days, come winter, she would likely have woven linen cloth and made her own clothes—as country people did in my childhood. Now the machine weaves sheer see-troughs, and any girl diminished in self-esteem by rape and dire poverty risks the temptation of making money by putting on the gloves of a whore to milk the horn of a stag.
I remind Daisy that her sister is suffering from anorexia and has hitched her and her children’s fortunes to a drug addict in England. I remind her that her father, who committed suicide, may not be her real father. I remind her that many nurses are nurses, because at one time they sought a doctor* for a husband; and the doctors surely know this and take advantage. I remind Daisy that her stepfather does not pay her alimony and support his children, and has abandoned her mother, and if he can find a steady job in Russia may not return to Latvija, but may yet invite her to replace his wife, her mother, and contribute to the globalization craze by inviting her to come live with him in Russia. I remind her that my advance payment for her to finish high school was a waste of good intentions and money. I remind that her oldest son, barely knows how to drive a nail into the wall, shrinks responsibility, and as a young teen already believes he knows more than his elders. Is this not enough pathology for one family? Is this not a spiritual disease?
*Many years ago one such doctor, whose mistress was his nurse-assistant, helped my mother and her brood of three escape from Latvija. Some years hence, his teenage son committed suicide. I wonder what was the cause. Perhaps it was instability in his father’s relationships, and finding himself but an appendage to these more important affairs?
Daisy is annoyed by my frankness. In response, she suggests that I am looking for a fight.
When I return to the subject of why her eldest son is incompetent at simple manual tasks, which suggests that her children have no responsible father, Daisy again reminds me that I am looking for a fight. She tells me that to ask local authorities to do anything will only result in her humiliation.*
*I know she is right. The huge Latvijan government bureaucracy encourages its undereducated employees to elevate themselves over ‘common man’ at every opportunity.
Nevertheless, I ask Daisy to get her son to complete the task I asked him to do some months ago, but which the boy has not lifted a finger to do. I tell her that if her son does not give me the sample studies that I have asked for, he should take the bus to the dentist by himself (I will cover the cost of the bus ticket), and will drive only her daughter. Daisy promises to look into the matter.
Later in the day she calls me and tells that she has thrown out the pages that I had copied and given her son to color. In effect, it is not her son, but herself who has sabotaged the project.